


Faith

by Safiyabat



Series: SPN Season 11 Episode Tags [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Cage Trauma, Episode Tag, Other, Sad Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5410907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>** Spoilers for s11 e09, "Devil's In The Details **</p><p>Sam is locked in a facsimile of the Cage, alone with Lucifer once again.  He thinks he probably should have expected this.</p><p>So does Lucifer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

> ** WARNING FOR ATTEMPTED RAPE **
> 
> Please note that this is not how I expect episode 10 to go.

            Sam couldn’t stop himself from trembling.  He didn’t want to.  What would be the point?  He _was_ terrified.  Why should he pretend otherwise?  He’d been a fool to think that God, even if He would rouse himself to deal with the Darkness, would ever choose to speak to a degraded, filthy thing like him. He’d been an arrogant fool.

            “You _were_ an arrogant fool,” Lucifer agreed.  Sam blinked and he was spread, immobile.  Bonds he couldn’t see held him to the bars of the cage Rowena had created.  “My Father tolerated your existence for one reason and one reason only: to house me.  And more fool you for trusting a witch.  Didn’t you learn the first time?”  Icy fingers trailed along his flank, freezing even through all of the layers of his clothing.

            Sam whimpered, a low sound deep in his throat for which he hated himself. He closed his eyes. He knew what was coming. And he’d certainly earned it. He’d trusted Rowena, put faith in her wards and her spells.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t screwed them over before.  It wasn’t like she wasn’t Crowley’s freaking mother. That alone should have been enough reason to kill her on sight. 

            Lucifer slapped his denim-clad ass, hard.  When an angel wanted to hit, he could _hit_ , and of course there was nothing to absorb the impact thanks to the invisible bonds.  He was sure that his tailbone was bruised, if not fractured.  “Look at it this way, Sam,” Lucifer told him.  “At least this way I don’t have to share you with Michael and that other one.”

            Sam bit his lip and tried to focus on the pain. 

            “I can’t believe it was this easy.”  Lucifer grabbed his hair and pulled, yanking Sam’s head back and baring his neck. Sam tried not to cry out, but only managed to reduce his cry to a hiss.  “I mean _this_ is the guy who stopped the Apocalypse?  The one who managed to toss two archangels into the Cage?  What happened there, Sammy?  A few too many hits to the head?  What’s the matter, your brother’s incompetent pet angel not so keen to heal all the head trauma for a maggot like you?”  He released Sam’s head with a shove.  “You couldn’t save the world now, Sam.  Hell, you couldn’t save a nickel in a locked room.”

            Sam nodded, as much as his aching neck would let him. Lucifer was right. He couldn’t have pulled it off again. Stanford seemed like a joke.

            “No wonder Dean replaced you with that prophet kid, and that red-headed woman. You get taken in so easily now, Sam. This was child’s play. You were so desperate to be _good_ , so desperate to be somehow relevant or something other than a millstone around your sainted brother’s neck that you were willing to turn to the being that hates you the most. It was so predictable, Sam. If He wasn’t willing to help you when you were here – I mean He raised Castiel, He helped Dean, He helped Bobby Singer, but you He left to rot.  But you still turned to Him and thought He’d help you.”

            Sam swallowed.  Part of him wished Lucifer would just get it over with; not that it would be fun, but the anticipation was worse than the act itself.  Then there was the fact that he had a physical living body here. Lucifer would almost certainly kill him; he usually died eventually, during Lucifer’s “play time,” and only the fact that he was in the Cage and a soul had kept him returning for more. Now he was alive; he’d die eventually and then Billie would show up to deliver on her promise.

            Turning to faith had seemed natural to him.  He’d been out of other options.  In hindsight, it had been stupid.  Maybe God would have listened to Dean.  Dean had advised against this, after all.  Dean knew that Sam was stupid.  Dean knew that if Sam thought something might be a good idea that they should just turn around and run the other way. 

            Deep down, Sam knew it too.  He’d known it forever.  He’d known it when he’d been a kid and he’d been left behind as being too useless to be a true part of the family.  He’d known it when he’d been a young adult and disowned for still being useless, but leaving to go be useless somewhere else.  He’d known it when his father only had last words for Dean, never for him, and when his father’s ghost only had eyes for Dean.  He’d had some flickering hope that he might be able to turn it around when he’d been able to exorcise demons and save the hosts, but look how that had turned out? Even saving the world and taking himself out of it had only been of limited success. 

            Yes, he’d wanted to believe.  He’d been desperate to believe that maybe, possibly, he could be saved. Maybe he could be forgiven, that his good intentions had counted for something. 

            Deep down, he’d known better.  It was time for him to play his hand, just as he’d told Lucifer he would.

            He closed his eyes and focused.  His tormentor drew closer, believing that Sam was once again yielding to the inevitable.  If this gambit didn’t work, then he’d have no choice.

            Lucifer placed an open hand directly on Sam’s back, just as Sam uttered a word in an Enochian variant so ancient that it hurt his throat to speak it. Sam was no stranger to pain, though, and Lucifer had only himself to thank for that.  The invisible bonds fell away.

            Blue eyes widened in surprise.  Sam had to move quickly; Lucifer was nothing if not quick to strike. Sam grabbed the angel blade he’d hidden in his jeans, and the vial he’d hidden in his pocket. Then he made a neat, shallow slash across Lucifer’s throat. 

            When Cas had told them about how Metatron had stolen his Grace, and how he’d stolen Metatron’s, Sam had been surprised by how it worked. It didn’t make sense that Grace would just wander right out of a body because of what was basically a shaving cut. He could see it in action for himself now, though, and he could see that Cas had been telling the truth.

            Sam had known that the only way to kill an archangel was an archangel’s blade – or a Knight of Hell armed with the First Blade, which wasn’t an option anymore.  They could still be cut, though; hence the plan.  He hadn’t expected Lucifer to just freeze like this, eyes bulging and voice gurgling.  He’d never expected to see Lucifer helpless. 

            A tiny part of him, the part of him that knew they were more alike than he cared to admit, pitied the archangel.

            Sam had never been one to let his emotions get in the way of what had to be done, though.  If he hadn’t let his pity for Cindy McClellan get in the way of drinking the demon riding her, he wasn’t about to let pity for Lucifer stop him from draining every last drop of his grace. 

            When the last bit of twisted, lavender-colored grace poured itself into the impossibly small vial Sam had brought with him, the form Lucifer had created collapsed into mist.  It had never been more than that, without Lucifer’s grace to animate it. It had been created simply to give form to the formless.  Lucifer had only been vulnerable to Sam’s attack because he’d had to give himself a form, under the circumstances. 

            He was still shaking, whether from residual fear or the flashbacks or adrenaline from taking out Lucifer he couldn’t say.  He sat back for a moment and stowed the blade and the Grace. He needed to get himself under control. If there was a “self” to control, of course.  Maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe this was an illusion, created by Lucifer to heighten his despair when he realized he’d never escaped after all.

            No, he couldn’t let himself think like that.  He’d prepared.  He’d anticipated.  He’d been as ready as he could be.  This was real. The pain where Lucifer had hit him, for one thing, was too real for it to be anything else.

            He might be rid of Lucifer, but he was still trapped. Of course, the cage might be warded, but it was warded against angels.  Sam was about as far from an angel as you could get. 

            He’d done this before, right?  Of course, he’d been soulless then, and soulless him had nothing better to do during the long nighttime hours than work out.  Soulless him had been almost superhumanly strong.  Sam was just Sam.  Broken, weak, pathetic.  Just like Lucifer had pointed out. 

            Fuck that.  He was Sam Fucking Winchester.  Maybe he was literally God’s most despised, the literal scum of the earth, but he’d taken out three angels, one of them twice now, and he did not need to sit in a cage in Hell and wait patiently for rescue lie a damsel in distress thank you very much.

            With all of his rage, pain and fury behind him, Sam was able to loosen one of the bars fairly easily.  Climbing out took only a moment after that. 

            Billie met him at the door to the chamber that was Limbo. “Sam,” she said, recovering her aplomb. “This is… not what was scheduled.”

            “Sorry.” He shrugged.  “Guess I didn’t get a copy of the calendar. How do you feel about reaping a demon and a witch instead?”

 


End file.
